Memoirs
by celizabeth345
Summary: "Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad."
1. Tape One

_**Memoirs**_

Multiple chaptered work of my previous fiction "Sentimental."

Rating: T for Teens.

Disclaimer: I own nothing besides Aaron, James, Amelia, and Lightning's mother and father and unnamed child.

Warning: Child abuse or beating of a minor, homosexual relationships, bullying, alcoholism, atheistic beliefs, methyphobia (fear of alcohol), suicidal thoughts and attempt(s). Lightning/Owen does have dyslexia, and is pansexual. And OC's do appear multiple times. Lightning x Sally Lightning x OC (male and female).

* * *

_**Tape One**_

_**Side A**_

Do you realize how much it hurts to know that you're not good enough? To have people every day tell you that you're disgusting, a freak, a _mistake_, a sin, a _queer_, and an idiot? To be raised to not be accepted as whom you are, but to strive to what you aren't; to become your worst fear.

To know that the person you hate and the one that haunts your nightmares, even though they're long gone, is the same person that you became? God says you should always love your father, because they were the one that helped bring you into this world. What if I told you that I hated my father for that exact same reason? For helping me become part of this world.

I fully believe that I have no reason for this world. I failed as a student, a son, a pupil, a brother, a husband, a musician, and as a father.

How the hell can I raise a child if the man I was raised by had five, and couldn't raise any of them? My father chose to drink rather than take care of the starving and neglected child next door. The only experience I have is what I know I shouldn't do; I should accept my child for who they are. Black, white, mixed, Asian, straight, bisexual, transsexual, tranny, pansexual, gay, lesbian, Atheist, Christian, etc. I shouldn't force them to be something or some_one_ they aren't.

I protected my siblings, took their beatings for them even when they were strong enough to take a belt the soles of their feet or the small of their back. I kept them untouched until I was eighteen when our father finally passed away.

I was bullied in high school and middle school because the scars I was forced to show when I changed my shirt and trousers for gym. I was bullied because I didn't just like _women_. I was once pinned down after last period and a soccer player wrote "QUEER" on my forehead with Sharpie, then my face and torso was kicked multiple times before the teacher found us.

The other students never did get in trouble.

Dealing with things like this in my childhood is extremely hard sometimes. Some days are great, some days aren't so great but I'm doing the best that I can. I have to be strong for my family, my siblings, and my _mother_.

I tried my life the summer before my senior year. I knew it was selfish, to leave my family with my father, but I couldn't handle it anymore. I hardly remember what the straw that broke the camel's back was. It doesn't really matter I guess.

Making sure that everyone would out of the house, my plan was fool proof. In July, I took a bottle of sleeping pills, slit my wrist, and filled the bathtub with lukewarm water. If one didn't work, surely one of the other two would work.

Luckily, Aaron, James, and Amelia didn't see me. Holley called 911 and saved my life. I was put in a mental hospital for almost the rest of the summer; my father never touched my siblings. He didn't want to risk getting caught with another child going to a hospital with another already admitted.

After my 17th birthday in August, a week after I was released from the hospital, my father threw a 22 pistol on the bed and told me something that haunts me today.

"If you're going to do it, you should at least do it right."

That's right. My father didn't give two shits about my suicide attempt; he told me I was failure so much I failed at _killing myself_. I cracked, and I became cold. I broke up with my boyfriend that I got together with at the hospital with, and began what lots of people remember me as. A cold, narcissistic, conceited bastard who only cares who he sleeps with. I recklessly slept with anyone that would open their legs willingly to me. Male, female, hermaphrodite, tranny and even transgender.

I decided the best way to get back at my father was to live. To show him that I can take something that he never thought I would do, racing, and became successful with it. And I did, but I became what I was scared of. Becoming just like my father.

I treated everyone I knew, except my siblings and mother, like shit. I just kept telling myself, "Do not give this man your tears."

I didn't care who was in my way, I was proving my father wrong.

Then, I got lost the highway of life. I ended up in the small town of Radiator Springs, and experienced true happiness I never had the time to experience. I learned to have fun, and learned truly what it's like to be a child, free of worries and stress.

For the first time in my life, I didn't have to fret over protecting someone.

Now, don't think I'm an asshole. I'd take a bullet for my siblings, but it was nice to finally experience childhood, even though it was at eighteen years old.

Then, I had a wakeup call. I was found and was forced from "Hillbilly Hell", the place I learned to love. I learned to look for the future. You're not supposed to look back; you're supposed to keep going. I guess I'm being hypocritical, explaining this on a cassette tape. Yes, my future child, I did steal this idea from the book "Thirteen Reasons Why". I thought if she could record her life story on cassette tapes, I should be able to, too.

As you should know, I threw out the race on purpose. I watched The King wreck, and I couldn't handle it. I got out of my car when I saw Strip limp out, and I carried him to the finish line. I came in third that race.

And it was the third greatest achievement I've done, besides marrying Sally and you my child, or children; of course.

I learned that I didn't need to prove to my dad that I could become successful; I proved to him, to everyone, that I could help people. That I wasn't a burden, and didn't hurt everyone I looked at. That I could have a family, and a wife, and raise my children to the best of my ability; despite my huge lack of knowledge.

I'm proud of myself, even with the scars on my body and in my heart. I was given a second chance, so I started given everyone second chances that I truly believe that could succeed with that hope. . . .

Excluding my father, however. I do not think I could ever give him a second chance, even if he was still alive today. Forgiving is an easy task, but forgetting and gaining trust is completely different.

* * *

_**Side B**_

I never understood why I was my father's child, why I born in that family, why I was _born._ I watched other families every day, they all looked so damn happy to me. Why couldn't I have that? Why couldn't I even _look like that?_

Sorry, I couldn't help but raise my voice. I apologize in advance for anything like that. I also apologize for any mistakes I make with you (all). I apologize if I embarrass you, or scare you. If I accidentally bring you down, just remember that I will always love you.

I'm not the greatest with words, I know.

I was wanted to shout at my father, "_I'm not alright, okay? Are you satisfied? I'm not alright._" I want to be strong for you, and I might seem like it, but I break down just like everyone else. I have trouble sleeping, I think too much. I have nightmares most nights, and I sleep on the couch so I don't disturb your mother.

I don't deserve to be happy, I'm selfish. I couldn't have spoken up about my father's abuse to protect my mother. I often imagine how people would react to my death.

If I die, do not cry at my funeral. Please. Sally, Mater, Doc, my children, that is my last wish. Live on without me. Don't worry about me, I'll be watching over you.

Sometimes, I think if I wasn't born, my family's lives would be better. When I was a bastard, every day I fought a war against the mirror and myself. I couldn't stand the person staring back at me.

Do you ever think the universe is against you? That you're not beautiful, and a mistake? I heard it every day at high school, directed at me and others.

"**You're really fat."**

"**You're so ugly."**

"**You're so stupid!"**

"**You're so worthless!"**

"**You're a piece of shit!"**

"**You're such a bitch!"**

"**Go kill yourself, loser!"**

"**Nobody likes you."**

"**You're a loser."**

"**You're such a whore."**

"**You're so pathetic."**

"**Attention seeker."**

"**Attention whore."**

_Don't believe them! _I beg of you, please don't! If you think you're not pretty enough, not thin enough, or just not enough; take a look in a mirror. If you can't see something good, look a little closer. Wipe the mirror, get a better mirror. There is always something beautiful about something, not just your personality.

If you think that no one knows how you feel, there are millions of people just like you. You can't change your situation; the only thing you can change is how you chose to deal with it.

When I had committed suicide, I had felt isolated. I felt like I was standing in the room of hundreds of people screaming, suffocating, drowning; and no one noticed.

And no one did notice until I made the choice.

Sometimes, it takes tragedy to show the truth of a person. I was in so much pain, and I was alone through it all until I was admitted.

I'm sorry my father. I'm sorry I couldn't be the son you wanted. I know you hate me, I know. I kind of hate me too. I don't want to hurt anyone else.

As Harry Wadsworth Longfellow once said, "Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad."

When I started high school, I believed it would be a good thing. I could finally have my new beginning, and I could become a new person. One that people actually liked.

I wanted to become the son that my father could be proud of. One that could be good in football, one that never had dyslexia, and the one that never depressed.

My children please, if you're going through depression or think you are; just close your eyes. You'll be alright, although it may not seem like it now or a week from now. Everything will pass; it may take a month or years.

You will always be able to talk to me, whether it's because of the weather, or your feelings. I don't want you forgetting me, and I never want you to feel the abandonment I felt. You're not useless, if you're even thinking that. You just haven't found your calling.

It took me 14 years to find mine.

Even if I could explain the feelings and thoughts I went through as a child, I wouldn't.

Depression is an illness that you do need help for; and one that you definitely shouldn't be embarrassed about. If you were diabetic, would you be embarrassed to the point where you wouldn't get help from a doctor?

* * *

Author's note:

Damn, I took over two hours to write this. I will write the next chapter as soon as possible. Before there are any questions, THIS IS IN LIGHTNING'S POV.  
If you are experiencing depression or considering suicidal thoughts, you can always call your local suicidal hotline. They are an anonymous line that will not judge you. Always, you can go to .com. They are a texting hotline. Anyone can be depressed, there is no such thing as a specific kind of people that are only allowed to be depressed. You are not a selfish person for being depressed, unless you are truly doing it for attention. Depression and suicide are very serious things that should never be used to get attention, so don't do it.

This is uncut, so I understand if there are any mistakes.

~celizabeth345


	2. Tape Two

_**Memoirs**_

Multiple chaptered work of my previous fiction "Sentimental."

Rating: T for Teens.

Disclaimer: I own nothing besides Aaron, James, Amelia, and Lightning's mother and father and unnamed child.

Warning: Child abuse or beating of a minor, homosexual relationships, bullying, alcoholism, atheistic beliefs, methyphobia (fear of alcohol), suicidal thoughts and attempt(s). Lightning/Owen does have dyslexia, and is pansexual. And OC's do appear multiple times. Lightning x Sally Lightning x OC (male and female).

_**Tape Two**_

* * *

_**Side A**_

I have a lot of nightmares, makes sense really. I mean, who wouldn't? Oh yeah, I know someone. Someone who wouldn't be a coward, who can stand up to their father to protect their loved ones.

Not me of course.

There's one thing I have had nightmares about that I realized one of my phobias. Methyphobia, the fear of alcohol and consuming it; almost all of the time my father would be drunk and go on his angry rampages. I have a severe qualm about alcohol, I get physically and emotionally sick just from the smell of it. My father was very choleric with it, creating bad memories for me. I get flashbacks every time, and I seize into a panic attack.

The story I'm about to tell you is before I tried my life, and before I became a narcissistic bastard. But before I tell you this, I must give you some back story.

I had two friends in high school. Not best friends, not an association. Just someone to talk to, and someone to eat lunch next to out in the hallway.

My first friend was Joseph, who is a dyslexic just like me. He had bum knee, and often limped down the hallway slowly with his knee brace sticking out like a sore thumb. He has sandy blond hair and big brown eyes, but not a lot of eyelashes on top or bottom. His glasses were cracked on the left lens, making it look like a spider had fabricated a web.

My second friend is Elizabeth. She's a Middle Eastern girl, and was very rarely seen without her headdress until near the end of high school, where she would only wore it at certain places or events. She was very beautiful, her tan skin never too oily and always wearing beautiful Saudi Arabia clothing.

Too bad her father and mother immigrated to the U.S. for unknown reasons; she wouldn't have been constantly teased and hurt every day. People would call her names, what people think all Middle-Eastern are like. And you know what the stereotype is.

They believed she was a terrorist.

She was just a simple girl they ended up in the wrong place, for the right reasons. She wanted to prove to Arabic men that she was not an item to be paid for, and traded like a baseball card. She wanted an education.

Elizabeth wasn't her real name, but it was what we called her since she was known around the school as a "terrorist," she chose an English name. She spoke lovely, never too loudly or softly. Even speaking Arabic, she would still sound beautiful.

And no, I did not have a crush on her. I wouldn't have a made a move anyway, she married Joseph three weeks after graduation. If I had kept in touch with her, I would know if she had gotten her full scholarship to Harvard or Yale, and became the Neurosurgeon she strove to be.

Guess some relationships aren't meant to last.

All three of us were bullied by the head soccer player, George Phillips. He had massive thighs and calves from playing soccer since he was three years old. He had a natural talent for it. He had gotten a scholarship for a University in Argentina, a name I can't remember. He played in the world cup to by the time he was 19.

He was never physically cruel, no much anyway. It was the words that left scars. The one time I got into a fight in school was because he said a sentence that made me punch him and break his nose my senior year.

"'At least I don't have daddy problems, queer.'"

I couldn't help it; I have short temper just like my father. One of the many things I actually inherited from him.

Being an asshole is another.

My junior year, after I had made in into Wind Ensemble, sitting first trumpet for the second year in a row, George had invited (forced) all three of us to a party the first Saturday of Spring Break.

Like I said before, this is when I became full in contact of my worst fear.

Flip the tape over for the story.

* * *

_**Side B**_

_Lightning looked across the room at the party, the smell of weed and alcohol clogging up his airways and brain; he sent an uneasy look to his two friends. They had the same look on their face._

_George had noticed the trio of losers at the party and went to greet/harass them. Slinging a weed scented around Lightning and Joseph's waist, leading the three to his large living room._

"_Glad you all could make it." A shit-eating grin was stretched from ear to ear, making Lightning shift awkwardly on his feet. "Have some punch, food, beer, condoms, weed, and all the favorites. Don't bother asking, no one is going to get it for you. Bathroom is upstairs to the left, and spare bedrooms are upstairs to the right and straight."_

_Elizabeth made a funny face at the punch, sniffing it carefully. Grabbing half a cup for everyone, the trio quietly sipped their drinks._

_A couple minutes later, Lightning got a full cup of the punch, deeming it safe from spiked. Only, someone had spiked the punch between the time Elizabeth got the drinks and Lightning got another cup._

_Sipping it carefully, the trio had quiet small talk. Lightning talked about his mechanic and band class; Joseph talked about his art and computer classes; and Elizabeth talked about her AP Chemistry and Psychology classes._

_About thirty minutes had Lightning's mind slightly blurred, but not enough to have him worried. He blew it off to his friends saying the weed was polluting the air and causing him to not think as straight. Grabbing his second and last cup, he only got a fourth done when all three made a realization._

_It _was _spiked._

_Lightning's eyes dilated and his breathing went short, fast, and ragged. Dropping the drink on the floor, staining the carpet, he began to lose control of his emotions. The panic hit him fast, and he couldn't break._

_Collapsing to his knees, he began to claw at his neck, shirt, and chest. Ripping his off, showing the fading bruises, he began to claw digger. Taking his right arm to his left bicep; he clawed three straight lines from his bicep, diagonally from his nipple line, to his shoulder. Blood ran down his chest onto the floor, and he just _couldn't think straight_._

_Screaming at the top of his lungs, he clawed and attacked anyone who tried to help him. During the beginning of his attack, Elizabeth had called 911 and yelled for help._

_Grabbing his throat with both hands, he shook back and forth and flung his head to and fro. His sweat soaked blonde hair swinging, in desperate need of a shower and haircut. Ripping the carpet and ripping the back door open, Lightning bellowed again and collapsed on the ground. Tears nipped at his eyes as he desperately tries to get a deep, slow breath in._

_The blaring sirens of the ambulance had sobered every one up pretty quickly, the police quickly arresting George and sending everyone home to their awaiting parents._

_The EMT's called his name, after learning it from Elizabeth, and quickly put him on oxygen and sedatives. Not hearing what the medical professionals were saying, Lightning was just too calm to pay attention. He didn't even notice the blood and the gauze on his chest as they put him on an IV drip._

_Bile rising in his throat, he shoots forward as fast he can and vomits the alcohol and finger snacks he ate all over the doctor to his right's shoes._

_Mumbling an apology, he lied back down and tried to settle his stomach for the rest of the ride. Ten to fifteen minutes later, time was too blurred right now to tell a more accurate time, the ambulance stopped and he was rolled off and placed onto a gurney._

_Panic was happening around him, but a sleeping sedative was placed into his IV lulling him to a deep sleep._

_Doctors were pumping his stomach and applying bandages and stitches to the claw marks, and clipping his fingernails. After all this was done, they stuck cloth gloves on his hands and tapped them down at the wrist. Throwing a thin blanket over him, a nurse was sitting on the couch in Lightning's unit, checking his blood pressure and temperature._

_Running a fever of 101.2, the nurse gave him Tylenol in his sleepy state and dabbed his face and chest carefully with a wet rag. Noticing something, the nurse's eyes went down to his wrist. Turning his arm slowly, the nurse let out a small gasp as the scars and bruises covering his body._

_Tracing her fingers down the straight lines on his wrist, the nurse's face softened at the self-inflicted scars. Placing a motherly kiss the boy's wrist, she squeezed his hand and left the room to call his family and police. . . ._

I hardly know the story after that, so I'm not going to explain. I don't know what my father did for the nurse to shut up and the police to ignore me, but I wished I cried for help louder. The frown on my father's face told me everything I did wrong that night.

I fucked up, again.

I can't help it; I've always been a failure at everything.

My little sister Holley stayed with me those three days, tapping and untapping the gloves so I could scratch the itches on my palms and in between my fingers.

Three days and three nights later (I was emitted on a Saturday night) I went home and was absent the rest of the week.

I found Joseph with a black eye and a split lip when I came back to school, and I never found out why.

I was too afraid to ask, because I knew it was my fault, in some way.

* * *

Author's Note:

Damn, this took forever to write, especially since I had to study for my Geometry test and take care of my very sick mom. This chapter is uncut, and I will start fixing the chapters after I finish a couple more. I'm only thinking about, ten or twelve chapters. One chapter will be a reaction chapter for when people hear his story.

This chapter isn't as good because I've been busy and taking care of a sick parent, which my education and family come first.

I will try to update once a week, maybe two, but no promises. High school is stuff, and my later stories will have less updates next school year since Marching Band season will be starting up again and I'm taking all advanced classes with no study hall.

Hope you all enjoy this story (:

~celizabeth345


	3. Tape Three

_Memoirs_

Multiple chaptered work of my previous fiction "Sentimental."

Rating: T for Teens.

Disclaimer: I own nothing besides Aaron, James, Amelia, and Lightning's mother and father and unnamed child.

Warning: Child abuse or beating of a minor, homosexual relationships, bullying, alcoholism, atheistic beliefs, methyphobia (fear of alcohol), suicidal thoughts and attempt(s). Lightning/Owen does have dyslexia, and is pansexual. And OC's do appear multiple times. Lightning x Sally Lightning x OC (male and female).

_**Tape Three**_

* * *

_**Side A**_

The attempt to take my life is never something anyone wants to talk about, me included. People at school called me a coward and my therapist told me I was just strong for too long.

What if I told you I didn't think when I attempted? Everything was just a blur; I was just barely able to make out my little sister Holley's face when she started performing CPR on me, trying to warm me back up. I suffered from mild hypothermia from my suicide attempt; I don't remember the first few days of the mental hospital.

It was nothing like in the movies, except a few things. They introduced me to my roommate, Devon, and explained our problems with each other and how we were supposed to help each other. Devon was an alcoholic, and my job was to make sure he doesn't try to drink the medicine or alcoholic used to clean wounds.

His job was to make sure that I stayed away from _all _sharp objects and that I spoke my feelings at least twice a week. Whether it was writing it down, drawing it, or speaking it. Devon was the only person that I really trusted in that hospital that wouldn't gossip with the other guys or judge me for my depression.

After a while, he became my boyfriend, my first real love.

I fell in love with the way he would try to help me even though he had trouble with social skills, especially since the way his foster family treated me.

I knew I wanted to be with him after we were playing partner Rummy with the other fucked up guys from the rooms in our hall.

We weren't allowed to talk, and I was allowed my iPod, and we had to express during the game whether I had Rummy or wanted the card on the top, or tell Devon I wanted to put our cards down.

It was kind of a bullshit trust-building game. It just made us competitive and wants to cheat.

After listening to Eminem with Devon for three hours, we were forced into our rooms with a small bag of goldfish. Everything was silent, except for the rather loud screaming from the mess hall. A fourteen-year old boy was having relapse and trying to stab himself after trying to vomit his dinner.

The shouts dissipated after about 30 minutes. Even after lights out, Devon and I still faced each other playing UNO with a pack of cards he snuck in. Eminem's "Without Me" blaring through our headphones, both of us mouthing to the rap, we knew the song by heart.

Who knew anyone could fall in love to a song making fun of celebrates and MTV? I did, at least.

We only shared a few kisses; I couldn't really remember the ones after the first. We glanced each other at the second verse, and then leaned in to have a light pressure on each other's lips.

It wasn't really romantic; it's not really our style. It was definitely not like in the movies and porn books, but I knew I loved it. It lasted a couple of seconds, and our hearts raced slightly higher than its relaxed pace.

After we got comfortable, there was really no need to talk to each other. We both knew that we felt the same with each other. We didn't get _too_ intimate, but we did as much as we could in the looney house. A small kiss, a brush of the hands, a hand each other's small of the back. Nothing too special, you would think.

But remember, _it was my first real love_. After we both left, we spent a lot of time together on the weekends and spring break while my father was gone.

It seems we went really slowly, and I did make it seem like that my siblings and father took up all my time. There were times of peace and when I could actually think I was a normal teenager and a semi-normal family.

When my family trusted me to be alone while my father was gone on Spring break, I lost my virginity to Devon.

It only after a month of dating.

Our relationship started out so _slow_, and then it sped up pretty damn quick.

Then, my father came back in the picture, _and I snapped_. I couldn't handle it, but I refused to try my life again. I would show my father, show him that the insults and the constant flow of words that come out of his mouth weren't _fucking true._

Flip over the tape.

* * *

_**Side B**_

I was working on my English III homework, trying to catch up with the class, when the front door opened.

I heard keys fall on the kitchen island, and the clash of glass with glass as my father grabbed a beer out of the fridge.

My little brothers were playing in the next room, blabbing quietly to themselves about some recent video game that they wanted that would come out of my ass to get them for their next birthday.

An hour or so passed, and I was only a small chunk through my homework, Eminem's "Just Lose It" playing on my iPod.

In case you haven't noticed, Eminem is my favourite artist.

I didn't notice the heavy footsteps, or the creek of the door as it was opened. My hair was grabbed, and I was forced out of my chair, and dragged to my bed. My heart started racing, what was he going to do? My iPod was placed on my desk, along with the headphones. Then, my father turned to me.

His blue eyes still send chills down my back. He didn't say much, but my reflexes acted and I responded. I don't remember what he said; my ears had blood pumping through them.

My head ached and stomach churned when I saw what he hand in his hand.

The 22 pistol that was only supposed to be used for self-defense, lying in his large hands. The sun shined on the silver weapon, making the light glimmer in my eyes. I squint my eyes, and twisted my bed comforter in my hand, trying to keep my breathing calm.

I was terrified; my chest felt like it was collapsing on itself. I tried to keep my composure; I knew the punishment was going to be worse if I started panicking.

My eyes and my stomach churned even more violently as he walked over to me, and placed the gun in my lap.

"If you're going to do it, at least you can do it _right_."

He didn't fucking _care._ _He never fucking did._

I stared at the gun for an hour. Then, I saw red, I scream at the top of my lungs when left the house. I punched the mirror, and ignored the pain my hand.

I destroyed my bedroom door and the garage door.

I don't know why I was surprised. Up until then, I always had small silver of hope in my chest that maybe, _just fucking maybe_; he actually cared for his first son.

I was so wrong. It felt like he took the knife in my back and twisted it, and kept stabbing me.

I abolished my bedroom walls, and broke my right wrist. Tears swam in my eyes, and hung on my eyelashes.

I will not _cry for him. Never again._

Looking at my iPod, I saw a recent text from Devon.

Sighing, I picked up the iPod and made my decision.

I refused to bring Devon into my problems again. I was a fucked up kid, just another brat in this world. And I didn't deserve him. I chose that day that I refused to let anyone bring me down, and make me feel like that I needed to _die_ to escape this shit of a world.

I was just a teenager screaming for help in the sea of people.

I was drowning, and I decided that I was going to be the one to pull myself over the water. I trusted too many, and I hurt everyone I cared about that returned my feelings.

I will succeed, and I will _show everyone._

_I am not worthless; I just haven't found whether I'm gold or iron. _Everyone is worth something to _someone_; you just have to be strong enough to search it for yourself.

Just, don't take the road I did.

* * *

_**Damn, this chapter was heavy. Band and my high school classes decided to stress me out last week and this week too, along with a shitty fucking cold.**_

_**I also caught my mom's stomach flu that I was taking care of her for.**_

_**Ughhhh, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Personally, I think this chapter was worth the wait. I really like this one, and I hope you all agree.**_

_**~celizabeth345**_


	4. Tape Four

Memoirs

Multiple chaptered work of my previous fiction "Sentimental."

Rating: T for Teens.

Disclaimer: I own nothing besides Aaron, James, Amelia, and Lightning's mother and father and unnamed child.

Warning: Child abuse or beating of a minor, homosexual relationships, bullying, alcoholism, atheistic beliefs, methyphobia (fear of alcohol), suicidal thoughts and attempt(s). Lightning/Owen does have dyslexia, and is pansexual. And OC's do appear multiple times. Lightning x Sally Lightning x OC (male and female).

_**Tape Four**_

* * *

**Side A**

I've always had a love for racing, I was on the schools cross country team, track team, and raced in dirt bike races.

I earned the nickname Lightning because I was the fastest sprinter, and the one that had the fastest mile in school history.

I forgot what it was.

I forget a lot of things, that's just how I am.

I always tried my hardest for the best grades to please my father, and stay on the team. I kept straight B's, and earned myself in the top three almost every time.

I felt proud of myself, and I felt happy. I missed some practices because I was too sore or I had to take care of my siblings.

Or the concussion my father gave me when I was fifteen with an iron skillet when I shouted back at him.

That was an interesting week after that, my father actually tended to my head. Helped my bruised body, and helped me with my math homework.

My father is a very smart man, with an IQ with over 200. He worked in the military, and gained PTSD. After that, he married my mother and had me. Then, he turned to alcohol.

His PTSD forced him to cope with substances; pot, alcohol, even acid. He turned my angry, and stayed up most nights writing out blue prints that he would never send to actual professors and scientists, even though they were truly genius.

His mind is constantly at work. Being a genius is truly a gift and a curse; you have superior intelligence, but you can never shut it down for peace and quiet. And you always have to deal with people with lower intelligence that you.

And those with no IQ at all.

I had to deal with being the heir to his intelligence, to go to college and major in mechanical engineering, and join the military to help build the weapons for the military.

After seeing how they turned my father, I promised myself I would never join the American militia.

I found out weeks later why my father tended to my wounds and helped me around the house and with school, the social services were suspicious.

Of course, that had to be the only _damn reason _why he could treat his first son _like his son, like family. _It's truly embarrassing for me. To know that the only way for my father to treat me like family is to threaten him to take away his other children.

_The only way._

Thing like that made me wonder, _make me wonder_, if I ever was to supposed to be born. If I was supposed to be born into another family or I was a mistake in this world. After years of being put down, I was tired of being the one no one notices.

I cried out for help, I went to a _mental hospital_. And _no one _had the thought to ask me about life at home, school, or even with my family; specifically my father.

After my suicide attempt, I learned that I can be broken, but I can still grow. There were so many things I want to say to my father before he died, but I never did. I was too scared.

I am the broken plate that fell from the cabinet, taping myself together. I can never be completely stable, or useful, but I can support myself.

During my childhood, I learned that pain is a part of growing up. It is how we learn.

Life is not fair, and it never will be. My children, I will never tell you that you will be happy your entire life. I don't want to lie to you. You will endure many hardships in life, and I will not always be there to support you.

But that doesn't mean I'm not supporting you.

Every night, I look at the stars. And I think of everyone I care about. Sally, Doc, Flo, Ramone, you, Mater, Holley, the rest of my family.

When I learned that my father didn't truly care about me, I lied to you when I said it didn't hurt.

_It hurt so much._

It's truly hard to forget someone who gave you so much to remember. Who gives you nightmares, leaving you sleepless at night. Who affects the choices you make _every single day. _

* * *

**Side B**

It's time to go back in the past a couple years, my freshmen year of high school. My very first dirt biking championship, all of my family was there. Yes, even my father, even though he didn't cheer me on.

The bumped jerked my red and gold bike around, the dirt kicking up into the faces of the competitors behind me. Laughing, I revved around each turns. Taking second place, I began to gain the lead.

The Hispanic racer in front of me looked back, and kicked up speed. Twist and turns forced all the racers to slow down, and I gained the first place. Nearing the finish line, I smiled.

Then, all broke loose.

My bike malfunctioned, and the steering bar jerked to the right, and flipped me. Landing on my back, I skidded across the ground, off the track.

Three feet away from the finish line.

I didn't recover fast enough to get on my bike and start it again, and finish first.

I finished fourth.

I failed, again.

The one thing that I truly love, and that I want to do for the rest of my life, I failed.

You don't understand though, there was a racing critic there.

Determining whether or not he should take me on when I turn sixteen, to put me into the minor leagues. Before I join Nascar, or any other big racing events like that.

All because I got too cocky.

I walked back to my family and team truck in shock, the pain shooting the back of my head and my back barely noticeable.

I couldn't believe it. I really couldn't.

The African American critic just walked right past me, shaking his head, turning his nose up in disgust. I worked so _hard_ to get him to notice me, and I make one mistake and suddenly _I'm not good enough._

At the moment, I felt I was never good enough. I didn't feel good enough, like I could ever make it. My fifteen-year old heart was shattered, and I was in too much pain to care. Too much pain to notice the sympathy from my family, or the disappointment from my father.

My children, if you haven't heard this today, I'm proud of you. You're not the monster they fear you are, the one that plague your nightmares and hide in your closet and the bed at night. The one that follows you in the shadows, trying to bring you down.

You stood tall, and never let anyone bring you down. Maybe that's why I'm telling you this, or the fact that I became a coward so I have to tell you this I cassette tape. But, just realize that your words do actually hurt.

All my life, I wanted someone to be afraid for someone to lose me. I found your mother, the most beautiful I've ever known, besides my mother and sisters. She's the woman that walks down the stairs to lay with me on the couch when I sleep there because I don't wanna wake her. The same woman that holds me when I have flashbacks or doubts.

She makes me feel like I have something worth in this world.

I'm not the most romantic guy, but I truly do love Sally.

Anyway, let's give a cheer to the kids who smile through the pain, who say they're ok when they're breaking down. Not because they're a victim, but because they found a reason to stay alive one more day.

* * *

This chapter isn't the greatest, in my opinion. It didn't really turn out the way I wanted it too. Ah, well. I'm surprised I made time to write this, especially since I started working today and I had a shit ton of homework.

Anyway, please leave reviews and suggestions.

~celizabeth345

* * *

Update:

Either the internet or fanfiction was down, but I couldn't post this last night.

However, this is not why I'm updating. I have KMEA Festival this Tuesday, so I need to be practicing my flute that. And, the girl that my brother Steven has been in love with for over seven years had gotten into a bad car accident last night.

This next week will probably have no update because I need to be there for my brother, even if I can't stand the girl because she's broken his heart multiple times.

Steven's a big ol softie, lol.

~celizabeth345


	5. Tapes Five and Six

Memoirs

Multiple chaptered work of my previous fiction "Sentimental."

Rating: T for Teens.

Disclaimer: I own nothing besides Aaron, James, Amelia, and Lightning's mother and father and unnamed child.

Warning: Child abuse or beating of a minor, homosexual relationships, bullying, alcoholism, atheistic beliefs, methyphobia (fear of alcohol), suicidal thoughts and attempt(s). Lightning/Owen does have dyslexia, and is pansexual. And OC's do appear multiple times. Lightning x Sally Lightning x OC (male and female).

* * *

_**Tape Five**_

_**Side A**_

I didn't always have a bad time with my father, sometimes he acted like a real father – when he was sober of course.

My favourite memory with my sobered father was when he took me, my little sister, and my pregnant mom to have a picnic at the local park. My mom was pregnant with my twin little brothers, and I was about three months until my 6th birthday.

It was ham and turkey sandwiches with mayo and American cheese, on white bread; with Coca-Cola and hotdogs with ketchup and mustards.

You must think I'm weird for still remembering something that happens nearly 20 years ago. I mean, I'm 23, I shouldn't remember this.

But, when you've been through so much _shit_ in your life, you hang onto every ounce of happiness you receive, and remember it to the day you die.

My father was tossing around the baseball with me, acting like a normal father would. Holley was sitting with my mother, setting the plates and blanket so we could eat comfortably.

When we started eating, my mother took Holley's and my hands and placed them onto his swollen stomach. Putting her hand high on the swollen belly, she told me this is twin number one. He was feisty, loves to kick a lot, and she said she had a feeling that he would follow his big brother around 24/7. As mother's instincts go, she was right.

Twin number two was lower, off to the right a little while twin number one was off to the left. He was quiet, and would often kick at the sound of my mother's or father's voice, or mine and Holley's. He would often scare my mother, being so still, that she would jerk slightly or do something to get a reaction from him.

Twin two followed my too, but rather would hug my legs while giving a beer to my father while twin one would drag my hand, wanting to tell me a story that he did today in grade school.

Twin two and I were the only ones who had constant problems with bullying, being the quiet kids. The youngest girl, Amelia, never had any problems in high school since my father died before she reached it.

Anyway, back to the story.

My father acted normal, with his 5oclock blond shadow that looked right on him, hugging my mother and kissing her cheek and chasing Holley and I with our Husky puppy.

We went home late that night, and Holley slept with me that night. Around midnight, my parents got into another shouting fight that led to another hole in the wall and a crying, over hormonal mom begging him to stop destroying everything in his path.

I covered Holley's ears and curled around her protectively, pressing my face into her black, curly hair and blaring Eminem into my ears.

Listening to Eminem always took away some of the pain from my parents fights, especially when I knew that they were about me.

Putting _Criminal _on, I turned the volume halfway and fell asleep. That was the first time I ever listened to him, on my mother's MP3; she was always a huge fan of him.

My parents were fighting about how Holley could run faster than me, and my father was disappointed in that, despite the fact I fell the down stairs and twisted my ankle.

I had an amazing time with my sober father, without knowing how he really felt. Despite knowing it, I still had childhood innocence and obliviousness so I truly don't understand why it's my favourite memory with my father.

Ignorance and obliviousness is the truly greatest weapon, isn't it? I hate being lied to, but when the truth will crumble you, sometimes it better to live the lie just a little bit longer before trying to live your life.

I lived a life of lies, and obliviousness, but I also always had the old hard truth. I _know _my father doesn't care about me, and had Munchhausen's Syndrome. I was always my father's victim so he could get attention from my siblings and my mother.

I hate it. I would've rather had died for the doctor's to tell us he had an _illness_ and that's _why _he would beat his eldest son, for _attention._

An _illness_; it should've made me feel better, but it didn't. It would _never _make me feel whole again, to feel like the oldest son that my father should've proud of. One that had amazing children and married a beautiful woman with an amazing personality and one that reached his dreams; I _will never _truly feel that way, because of that man.

No apologizes will ever make anything better; he had _eighteen fucking years_ to become sober, to change, and had _five children_ to make things right with, and 25 years of a marriage to make it right with my mother.

He had so many chances, and he never took a damn one.

He doesn't deserve my tears, and doesn't deserve another chance. Luckily, he can't have another one.

But, I have one question that I never figured out.

Why did his death hurt me so much?

* * *

_**Side B**_

I felt sick for weeks after that night, but I still had a stick of hope in my chest. My father had faked caring for me, I promised myself for _years_ that I could actually be loved by that man.

Actually, I promised that I could be loved by anyone, really; just mainly him.

I wanted my father's approval so bad.

To this day, I still do. I'm still that little boy that takes a beating, but runs to the fridge as fast as he can on a broken ankle, just to see a single fucking _nod_ from his father.

I'm pathetic really.

* * *

_**Tape 6**_

_**Side A**_

Thank you listening to this, my children. I hope this explains why something I act irrational, or have panic attacks. Or just simply go to the next room.

I'm afraid of hurting you; more importantly, I'm afraid of hurting myself and losing you.

I love you, Sally. My children, Doc, Sherriff, Romane, Flo, Mater, everyone; I love each and every one of you.

Please, just think about it; please realize that I am not broken, but I am not fixed each. I was shattered, and now I'm putting the pieces together.

And you all are to thank for that.

* * *

Author's Note:

End of the tapes y'all!

Review if you want a reaction chapter from the RS crew, or the McQueen family.

On a more important note: my internet, google chrome, and Honors English are dicks.

See ya!

~celizabeth345


End file.
